Don't Look Up
by RaichuFloette
Summary: Looking up is a normal thing for human-beings. But what if I told you that a monster lurks up there? Rated T for scariness/mention of murder. Eerie/sad creepypasta. Don't like, don't read. Reviews are welcomed, as long as you don't flame. No, it's not real. I think. Just don't look up.


_**DON'T LOOK UP CREEPYPASTA**_

I wasn't easily scared…that much I know.

At least, that's what I thought. I wasn't too sure if my mind was working correctly at that moment.

What a lie. I wasn't easily scared. Such a big, big lie.

I'm scared of bugs that pop out of nowhere. I'm scared of spiders, drowning, dying, and suffocating. I'm scared of creepypastas yet I read them, I'm scared of bugs yet I touch them, I'm scared of drowning yet I go into water a lot, I'm scared of suffocating yet I stuff my face in a pillow a lot, I'm scared of diseases yet I watch videos about them, I'm scared of parasites yet I keep mentioning them.

I'm easily scared, that much I know.

Now I'm absolutely sure of that statement. No, I don't have mental issues. It's not about that. And no, this isn't a lame killing creepypasta. No, I swear, this is _true_. Every word.

True.

The scariest thing about this creepypasta is that I'm scarred for life now.

Watching my mother commit suicide was devastating enough. But seeing my dad get arrested? No. That wasn't fair.

I have foster parents. They, believe it or not, are nicer than my old parents. They reassure me when I'm scared, and used to tell me bedtime stories.

Until I got too old for them.

Then one day, my foster mother decided to tell me a scary but fake story. She told me about this tall man (I asked if it was Slenderman, but she said no) that walked around at a graceful pace, but he did it so….creepily.

My foster mother told me this: "Don't. Look. Up. If you do, he _will _kill you. He'll snap your neck and you'll die."

I promised that, if I ever saw him, I wouldn't look up. I was silently chuckling, for I knew he wasn't real. I asked what his name was.

She said it was Man.

_What a terrible name, _I thought. _I'm a better storyteller than her._

Turns out it wasn't a fake story.

When I was thirteen, my foster parents mysteriously disappeared without a trace. My foster mother left me a creepy note. It was written with blood. It said:

"_Don't look up" _

There were more words, but they were smudged with blood. I figured she was joking around with me and they would return, tell me they were kidding and they'd never scare me like that again.

They never did.

I lost two sets of parents. I was depressed. I locked myself up in the house, ignoring my new foster parents, and only came down to eat once before I stopped coming down at all.

Finally I slipped through the window.

The streetlights were flickering on and off. I didn't worry. It happened often. It was dark out. The moon hung low in the sky, the stars surrounding it like fangirls. I loved watching the sky. It helped me relax and not think about my parents and my foster parents.

This time, however, I didn't bother to look at the moon in wonder.

Instead, I plodded heavily on the sidewalk, twiddling with my hair and sighing occasionally. Life was boring.

I didn't hear the faint screech in the background.

There was no one out. The dogs weren't barking, the cats weren't meowing, and my annoying neighbors weren't screaming their heads off. Weird.

This time I did hear the screech, but it was cut off abruptly, so I just shrugged it off as a figment of my imagination.

I heard footsteps behind me. I turned, ready to greet the person behind me.

There was no one.

Puzzled, I turned back around and kept walking.

"_Don't"_

"Who said that?" I questioned quietly, glancing around nervously. No one was around. Man, I was hallucinating big-time. Perhaps I was mentally affected by my parents' death!

"_Look"_

I was now terrified.

Please….

Please don't say that phrase.

The phrase that haunted me for life,

That burned in my very core,

Please.

Please don't.

Don't look up. Don't look up. Don't look up.

No, no, no, this was all wrong.

Don't. Look. Up.

"_Up_"

I panicked and yelled for help. Surprisingly, no one came to my aid. I rushed to the nearest house and knocked on the door.

Nothing.

I peeked into the window.

Nobody was home. Odd.

The lights were off, there was a shape on the floor…

I squinted.

What was it?

Was that….

_No. _I backed away, visibly shaking. _No, no, no, no. Don't look up. Don't look up. Don't-_

"_Don't look up."_

My heart leaped and I looked…down. I couldn't bring myself to look up, to see what that thing on the ground was. It was like….a very tall man.

Man.

Man.

Man.

Don't look up.

Whatever you do, DON'T. LOOK. UP.

I couldn't help but look up slightly.

What I saw will terrorize me for the rest of my life.

He was looking down at me. I swear I could see razor-sharp teeth curved in a smile.

"_Don't look up, dearest._"

I screamed and ran home.

I couldn't sleep. In the morning, I told my foster parents what happened. They didn't believe me, said I hit my head or something. But I didn't. I'd know.

I went to the same house I saw Man.

The lights were on. People were inside. They were eating cereal, watching Dr. Phil.

I went to sleep, thinking I was just going crazy.

I'm not seventeen. I cannot say I forgot about that incident, for I have not. I'm writing in a notebook about the whole ordeal right now. I….what's that noise?

"_Don't"_

Please, no. No, no.

"_Look"_

I want to scream. I can't. I can only write with shaky hands.

"_Up"_

Don't look up.

My knuckles are white.

Whatever you do, DO NOT LOOK UP. If you do…you will be traumatized for the rest of your life. For Pete's sake…

DON'T LOOK UP.


End file.
